Final Judgement
by LuciusMCassius Yari
Summary: Remus Lupin sees something in Draco Malfoy. A connection. He wants to redeem the boy. Bring him into the light, if you will. But there are stronger connections between Draco and Lucius than Remus first believed. Warning: incest, homosexual references


WARNING: This story contains references to consensual incest as well as homosexuality. 

While there is no real *action*, I am taking the liberty to remind those of you 

(especially those of you that review without even reading the story) that you are 

taking the choice to read this "highly controversial" content- no one is forcing you. 

With that said, sit back and enjoy my novice attempts at writing.

DISCLAIMER: J.K. Rowling owns all of the Harry Potter muse, and on occasion

shares it with Warner Bros. 

Summery: Remus Lupin is drawn to Draco Malfoy. He thinks he can be saved. 

Brought into the light, if you will. But Malfoy has more connections with his Daddy

than even the DADA teacher would dare to speculate.

By LuciusMCassius

Final Judgment

_He was pretty. So very, very pretty. _

It had been strangely and spontaneously declared that only Christmas colors would be worn to the nightly festivities. And so students had scrambled with textbooks, trying to curse their robes into a certain color, which for the most part worked. Some unlucky bunch had to stay in the hospice because they too had been accidentally colored. Parkinson was now a brilliant shade of green. Neville looked as though a rainbow had latched itself to onto his back.  Dumbledore found it humorous, but not many of the students did, their new robes now oddly colored and shrunken- which seemed to be an odd side effect of their spells. 

But he arrived; prettily and in a sense Christmas-ly, a silver robe tight on his shoulders and waist, with gloves that came past his elbows. He was a doll made of tinsel, fragile wisps of hair twinkling in the firelight, (so graciously provided by the Main Hall's vast walls of candles) and full pink lips, twisted into an expression of less than charitable cheer. He was the pinprick of silver amidst all the reds, and greens, and golds. To the professor, the boy seemed alone in the world, having too little space in the bubble known as "rules and regulations" to have friends. It was this loneliness that drew the man to him, the aching beauty of it all.

A few hasty glances were shot the boy's way, then followed by hungry stares. He was used to it. He knew; pretty things were looked at longer. Knees locked to his chest, he drew himself in, like a child's toy, a Jack-in-the-Box eager to spring. How coy and innocent he looked, pale, serpentine eyes closed, concealing the hardness beneath the tender skin. How very pretty. It was painful to watch the boy, bowed in the darkest corner, shimmering like a star. Secluded, though not really caring.

Students filed in; carrying laughter and joy with them, things he did not have nor want. They exchanged presents under the tree, handing sweets to one another and letting out squeals of delight as they ripped wrapping paper. He did not open his presents. There were quite a few, yes, large and dark beneath his House's Christmas tree, but he made no move to touch them. They lay as still as he, as lonely as he, practically begging to be opened.

From across the room, the professor observed the boy with a mix of emotions. Emotions he feared even to pretend noticing. He too had given the boy a present, and now felt his mind conflicting with the insult of his affections being ignored, against the infectious sympathy of sharing a past very similar to the boy's. They had both been raised in a lonely world of opulence and splendor, and physical gifts were meaningless.

 A subconscious peal had been eating at the man's heart. He was attracted to the boy. By the way he walked, they way he talked, hiding his intellectuality in class but showing it off in tests and games of power…and of course all wrapped up in a very pretty package. Even more striking was the boy's expression. It was one of being lost, but refusing to admit it; the look of having nothing but fear and subdued tears all one's life. It was an expression they both wore. Even on Christmas.

The man bit his lip, hesitant, then strode forward from his own secluded niche. Students noticed him, and looked away. Everyone appreciated him, he was kind to them, but he carried edges of frailty and internal sickness that anyone in their right mind would shy away from. He didn't really care. He stopped at the edge of the Slytherin Tree, his robes a darker green than the needles splaying from it's branches. The forgotten presents sat at his feet, dark ribbons twisting out like tentacles.

"Draco." He bit harder that he meant. "Why haven't you opened any of your presents?"

The boy looked up, his bangs dangling like frosty icicles, partially hiding the windswept blizzards that were stored behind them. The man felt a slight tinge of amusement, noticing that the boy's skin was the same shimmering color as his robs. Perhaps he too had been hit by a coloring sell. An expression of dislike crossed his student's face as the boy glanced at his shabby robes, then mild interest as he began to look at the man's eyes.

"Professor Lupin." The boy acknowledged, dangerous curiosity in his voice.

The man chewed his lip, observing. The boy merely glared, daring the professor silently to push the conversation further.

"Would you like something conveying that wholesome Christmas cheer, Draco? Anything at all?" he snapped his fingers at an elf, who happened to be carrying iced eggnog.  He took two frothy glasses from it and nodded politely. The elf squeaked enthusiastically before scurrying away.

He offered the icy drink to the boy, who accepted it, a slight sneer curling up his cheek. 

"Fuck Christmas." Snarled the young Malfoy, bow-shaped lips curling maliciously, "If this damned holiday gets anymore cheery I think I'll turn into the next You-Know-Who, and make it a point to play knick-knack with Santa's unmentionables."

The professor blinked, musing over how the boy knew of the Muggle fairy tales that were much better explained to wizarding children. He chuckled, then brought the cool drink to his lips, savoring the rich creamy taste on his tongue. Glancing at the boy, the youth's head innocently arched, throat exposed to his eager eyes, he wondered if that moonbeam skin tasted just as soft and sweet. 

"What seems to be the problem, Draco?" he started warmly, smacking his lips, "You can tell me anything."

"What…"the boy laughed sardonically, affronted at his least favorite (not counting Hagrid, course) teacher's jovial pretense. "It _seems, Professor,_ that my problem is you. A poor, Gryffyndor-biased pauper, walking around this damned hall begging for leftover scraps of sympathy. Go away, I've already spent my allowance!"

Lupin's brow creased. His senses overloaded on the familiar scent of Lucius Malfoy on the boy. So Lucius had even branded his very scent on his son.

"Draco…"he began, doing his damnedest to be stern at the petite clone of the frosty wizard known as Lucius Malfoy.

"You've been…well...not yourself since Christmas holiday." He fumbled further for a strong voice and incentive, "Has anything happened that I, or-or anyone here should know about?"

"No." the reply was shot out too quickly. 

Lupin raised his eyebrow at the boy. It was rare to see such an obvious break in the composure of one who was so well know for his stoic temperament. He licked his lips and tried again.

"It's a rare sight y'know."

The young Malfoy glanced sharply at Lupin, already forming a hardened shell around him by playing a soft sneer on his face. Curiosity was the only thing keeping him from running back into the dark, damp dungeons. He was the only child, Lupin mused, that would run _into_ the dark night instead of out. But he had been raised to seek comfort in the dark alleyways and shadows. 

"What's rare? Having a full stomach?" the boy sneered, "Not really surprising. Maybe if you gorge yourself tonight you won't have to give Dumbledore that nightly blowjob for scraps."

"Five points from Slytherin for disrespecting your superiors. You know better Malfoy. I was going to say that it's a rare sight to see a boy who doesn't want to open his Christmas presents." Lupin frowned.

Draco shrugged, completely bored with the idea of Christmas and presents, and went back to sipping his eggnog. This time, when the pale throat leaned back, Lupin ignored his ever-tightening pants, and observed the skin that hid just barely beneath Draco's collar. Purple-blue color blossomed in the most unsightly hues against the boy's collarbone and throat. 

The professor almost did a flip, realization hitting him like a tutu-clad goblin with a two by four. 

Draco Malfoy had bite marks. Deep, angry welts rose from where the teeth had dug in, and the breaks of the skin were mottled with flaky scab tissue. The great two by four came around for another pass. Draco had been bitten with someone with exceptionally sharp teeth. Being a DADA teacher had its advantages, Lupin mused, because the course required the identification of bite wounds. It was obvious that a vampire or werewolf was not the culprit. No, it seemed that someone of the same species had inflicted Draco's wounds. 

Pity, Lupin growled, the human race varies so greatly in personality. From Albus to Voldemort. 

However, despite his plethora of choices, Lupin was able to draw conclusions without much difficulty. There were none too many who could assault a boy such as Draco without being chewed up and spat out. If not by the boy himself, then by his father. 

There was no proof. But Lupin was well aware of the fact that Draco had gone home for the holidays, and returned shortly thereafter, to complete his Christmas break at school. So something had happened between Lucius and his son. Something that had to be snuffed immediately. He controlled the urge to moan as a mental image of the two silver creatures pressing skin against skin, tasting, biting, gasping.

No……. Faaaather!!! A desperate, ravenous plea. Backs arching together and soft hiccups and sticky hot sweat running down hairlines.

 His eyes rolled heavenward. If he knew the amoral family well enough, it was not too far fetched to imagine Lucius fucking his only child.  Even less far-fetched to believe that the man beat his son on occasion and held standards high enough to make Hermione Granger to sweat. Lucius Malfoy was not the best father in the wizarding world. But, gods, he never thought the man would go so far as to…to claim Draco.

No proof, Lupin shook his head, there is no proof. I can't draw conclusions. Draco might be having a sado-masochistic love affair with Mgonagall for all I know.

He eyed the boy again. Draco had finished his eggnog and was watching his professor with a mixture of amusement and disgust. The silver hair he so patiently slicked back was falling into his eyes again, and he dismissed them with a casual flick of his head. 

"Got anything else to say?" he drawled.

"Excuse me?" Lupin quirked, his lips forming a half-smile. 

"I said: Got any other brilliant excuses to make eyes at me, professor?" the boy began to rub his neck with his palm distractedly, frowning at the sensation it seemed to be causing, all the while maintaining an infuriatingly calm demeanor. 

"What is your damage, young man?!" the wolf finally snapped.  His eyes pinned Draco's, searching for the images of teeth and bites and screams. "Can't believe there's someone in this world who actually gives a flying fuck about you? Is your head so stuck up your father's ass that you can only spew the shit he feeds you?!" He spread his arms, as if to envelope the boy, "You appear completely out of the blue- in the middle of Christmas break no less, with an attitude that would- under ordinary circumstances, earn you enough coal to put Antarctica on the 'New Tropical Hotspots for Fashionable Wizards' list! You have wounds under your high-collar robes, Draco Malfoy. I am a teacher at this fine school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and that makes me directly concerned about your welfare!"

He puffed out the remaining air in his lungs, as if to punctuate his rant. 

He recovered in time to see Draco's mask-like face crack. In its place was something Remus had not expected, not wanted, never _ever_ wished to see.  

He controlled the desire to vomit as the boy's face curled into a likeness of the damned from Michelangelo's painting of the Final Judgment. It was a fusion of malicious delight and fear and confusion. It was madness. And Remus realized with horror, that Draco Malfoy _liked_ being fucked by his father.  

It wasn't abuse when the victim was willing, was it?

"I…see." The boy hissed quietly, removing his palm from his neck and rising slowly. Tinsel hair swished against the moonbeam skin of his face. "So…this is how it is going to be, is it?"

Remus stared. Diamond hard eyes stared back. Daring him, taunting him. The professor clenched his hands hard, leaving little crescent moons on his palm. The boy glanced over his shoulder, then back at the professor. In a silken motion he licked his lips with a petal tongue and slid by the older man, much like the patron icon of his Hogwarts House. Slytherin. Little snakes grow into big vipers. He caught the boy's scent as he passed. It was a dark, cool smell. It was exactly like his father's. 

"See you in class, professor…" Draco called out, gliding around his house members- teeth biting back a laugh on his lips, arms wrapped around his waist, as though he were trying to pretend they were another's. 

There was nothing left to save. No child or kindred spirit dwelled within Draco Malfoy. Remus Lupin knew it, and his eyes lost a little more of that sparkle Sirius so loved. If it was possible, he looked even shabbier returning to his corner than he had emerging from it. He felt his age grab him at the throat and drain all the energy he had possessed earlier that night slip away.  

"I'll see you in hell, Draco…" the words were lost in the clamor of the hall as soon as they were uttered from his lips.  And the professor went into mourning for one of his brightest students.

Fin.

A/N:

I…almost want to write a sequel. Or a prequel. But FFN now prohibits NC-17! Damnit, there were some really good stories rated NC-17 because of a few short scenes, and now they're completely cut out.  What a waste. And yet tasteless, mindless crap that is G/PG and PG-13 is kept on. Congratulations FFN. This is now a kid based (as in 12 or younger) website. *Looks around* Where can I find the good shit please? Any more adult oriented sights to suggest? 


End file.
